Lost Doves
by TardisCat
Summary: A vampire seeks to tell his story: from the bitterness he learned in life, to the manipulation and cruelness as a Ghoul, and the happiness that could never be found even in un-life. (Updated: Chapter 3)
1. Prologue

_Dedicated to Laura: For the creation of Elsa, Kawaii and Larkin, without whom, this story could not exist. _

_---_

Lost Doves

Prologue

_A low flame flickered to life on a single candle in a quiet room. The hand that lit the match flinched from the small spark of flame, and then settled silently on the tabletop beside the lighted candle. It was the only light, and it caused the shadows to jump, grow then shrink again about the hunched figure that sat beside the single window._

_He was alone, but then, he had spent much of his life feeling alone, and in many of those cases, he had sought the solitude. But tonight, while the moon was low and the city was quiet with the sound of sleeping souls, the figure with the hunched back was feeling that it was not a night he wished for it._

_His sire was busy enough without him that he was confident he could be alone and not be bothered, and he felt less of that yearning hunger for he had fed earlier in the night. And so he was filled with emptiness and regret, so far from where he had once been, and yet exactly in the same place as years past._

_His bent body curled over the table, a pale hand with crooked fingers seeking out the pad of paper that was set before him. It grasped the pen that awaited his command and hovered over the blank white pages in readiness to write._

_He had never attempted this before. To put his life to written words had never been a desire or an urge, but on this cold winter night he was not feeling the same as he had in years passed. Indeed, he had not felt completely like himself since the change, but how could he really know what it was like to be himself? Perhaps this was why he had conceded to tell his story. He had no intention of letting it be seen or read by human eyes, (or otherwise) but it would be there, set free from his mind. Maybe he would feel freed from it once the pages were filled._

_All his nights were cold now. He felt no more warmth, even if he searched for it, either from the flame that dwindled by his side, or by the touch of a woman. The first he now feared for fire was deadly, and the second, due to events beyond his control, he had lost. He would never again see his wife, as she was now dead, killed by a hand he both hated and loved. They had not even been wed a year, yet she had been the most precious dove he had kept. He had never deserved her, he knew, but he had taken her anyway, kept her caged like one of his birds… Maybe now she could be free._

_The hand had not yet moved to paper, for his mind was consumed with these thoughts. He would have to break away from the present to bring forth the past. The past: which he oft loathed to remember, where his hatred had grown to bitterness and betrayal. Tonight he would remember, and if he could, feel as detached from it all as much as he had felt detached from the rest of the world._

_Such long moments stretched before he began to write, the ink sinking down to record his cursed tale. And once he started, the words came easily. They poured from him like blood gushing from a wound, like a fire set lose on a wood. He would consume the pages in such an act of creation and destruction._

_In this way, he started his confession._

I knew from the day that I died that happiness could not be attained by the monsters that the world created…


	2. Fault of Creation

Lost Doves

One: Fault of Creation

I knew from the day that I died that happiness could not be attained by the monsters that the world created…

Depending on belief, I was born an innocent into a sinful world, or I was born with sin and therefore doomed from the beginning. I could believe both, though I no longer see sin, nor good nor evil. Religion holds no comfort for me, no salvation, no love, not since I last prayed as a small boy and instead of forgiveness I was given blame and suffering. What then, was I to think about God? There is no God in my story, but if there were, it would not be a God of mercy.

Some might begin their life story with their parents; praise their lineage as if it mattered anymore. Breeding has had no real importance since the death of kings, and to have children now has nothing to do with the survival of the species.

It is an act of selfishness that people now go about spreading their seed. Immortality, they say. Would they want real immortality if they knew what it entailed? No, they would rather give life to some helpless being with which to cast their own shame onto, the same shame which they gained in their own childhoods. That way they can die and know that their precious, meaningless line could be continued.

I cared not for my own line. Being of strict, German breeding perhaps I was expected to be, but my parents, the esteemed Frau Odelia and Herr Alger Guether, were no more reflected on me than I was on them. I was not fair haired or strong featured, neither was I ever beautiful, even as an infant. This was the first disappointment I cast upon my parents. The second was that I was frail, ugly, and deformed. And this caused my father to ignore my existence, and my mother to wish I had never been born.

I was brought into the world on a warm May morning in 1952 in the quaint and quiet town of Bedburg, Germany, and I am sure that all in the delivery room had wished that the twisted, pale-skinned creature that was brought forth had never seen the light of day.

There were rumors even before I was born, that I was a bastard child. My parents had never conceived before, and it was common speculation that my father was sterile. And so the birth of a child, indeed an unplanned child was the cause of much speculation and rising of eyebrows.

It still puzzles my why they kept me in their household, although I heard from the maids that were to raise me, that my mother had once attempted to literally throw me out with the bathwater.

I overheard a servant one night when I was supposed to be in bed and the noises from a downstairs party was keeping me up. I had snuck to the parlor to see if I could sneak something to eat, when I heard voices and I ducked back into the hall.

"And that poor child," the maid was saying to one of the cooks as I hid. "Such an unpleasant thing to look on."

"Oh, don't be unkind Ada." The cook gently scolded. "It is not the babe's fault his mother whored herself to businessmen."

"But it is her fault for letting the creature live. I would think it a mercy to have done off with it, a miserable little child like that…"

"Don't think she didn't try." Interrupted the cook. "Oh, yes. Fraught with a mad depression they said after she gave birth. Tried to drown the baby in it's own bath. Can you believe that? One of the cleaning maids saw it and stopped her."

"If I were her I would have let--"

"Careful what you say, young woman. Maybe it would have been mercy to let it die, but it was pity that drove the cleaning girl to save him…"

And that was when I could hear no more and I ran back for my room.

It was only gossip, but even early on I could tell the ring of truth from the mindless rumors. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was true. I assume it would have been more scandalous to actually get rid of me and admit I was not my father's child than it was to keep me, and so I was kept.

I was often hidden; being something of a Faux Pas to let me be seen in public in front of my parents. It was why the servants kept me and raised me, keeping me from social embarrassment.

My mother was the daughter of a rich family, and she benefited from the wealth. I don't believe she worked a day in her life and I don't remember seeing her much, at least not in a motherly sense. When she spoke to me it was always about what I should or shouldn't be doing. "Don't play outside where the neighbors can see you," or "keep out of the way when the guests come for dinner."

My father, the ex-Nazi General, barely spoke to me at all, and while my mother's words were cold and uncaring, my father's were harsh and reprimanding. If he spoke to me, it was because I had done something wrong. In all other cases, the servants were there to scold me and keep me in line.

I did as I was told in my early years, from my mother, my father, even the servants. I kept to myself. I didn't go out when I wasn't supposed to and I kept my mouth shut. I didn't seek punishment, though sometimes I would receive it anyway. I was as "good" as I possibly could be, as I really had no other choice.

Before I had accepted my parent's neglect, there was a time when I still sought out their attention. My mother's more than my father's since she seemed to at least consider me, if not a son, at least a child of hers.

There was one cold night when I was bed-ridden with a fever while I was at least nine years of age. Most of the servants were gone due to a holiday, but one girl was left to watch me.

I can barely see that night clearly, but fuzzy images drift back to me from time to time.

While I was feeling weak and groggy from medicine I had been fed earlier, I heard the voice of my mother speak from the doorway.

"How is he?" She asked the servant girl. Was she possibly concerned?

"He is still sick with fever, ma'am." Answered the girl as she sat at the side of my bed.

There was a pause of silence, and then I heard my mother closer.

"Leave me with him a moment."

Despite my sickness, I felt a slight giddiness. My mother rarely came to visit me, and for her to see me at this time… Yes, I still had some boyish hope left.

I turned my head slightly, burry vision attempting to focus on the woman as the servant left.

"Mama?" I tried to speak clearly, but my voice was quiet and scared.

She took a seat in the chair at my bed, but she didn't answer. She only looked at me, her expression seeming tired and sad on a face that was becoming lined with age. Her dark, gold hair was tied back tightly, and she had on a dark, elegant dress. She must have just returned from a social event with father and had been told I was ill.

Still no words, and not even a smile, but for her to simply be here was enough to hold me with wonder.

I didn't understand why she would come here and not want to speak to me. Even as I stared at her through my discolored eyes, she never said a thing. She only reached over and tucked the blankets closer around me. It was the only gesture of tenderness I had remembered receiving from her, yet I could hardly appreciate it while the worst of my fever had hit. I was told I cried all night.

My mother may have stayed the whole night and tended to me while I was in my feverish daze, or perhaps she left as soon as I fell asleep. Either way, she was gone when I woke and my head had begun to clear.

"Where is Mama?" I asked the servant girl when she returned to take the moist towel from my forehead.

"Shush now, child." That was all she said to me as she placed a thermometer under my tongue to check my temperature.

I didn't receive any more visits from my mother after that. Later I would realize it must have been pity that she had suddenly felt for me that night. I was her poor, deformed child, unwanted even by her. She must have been asking herself… Why?

It was a strange urge to want attention, when at the same time I didn't want anyone to see me at all. It must have been my shame, combined with the pitiful hopes of an unloved son. What a foolish boy I was.

There were problems with hiding myself from the outside world that I could rarely avoid.

When I was as young as two, my family decided to become adventurers and travel the world. Needless to say, this made settling a difficult thing, with a house being claimed on almost every continent. There were several we would go to during the summer all around Europe. Italy, France, Switzerland, Greece, Spain… I even saw much of the East, with scarce land in China and Hong Kong. In the winter we visited warmer places, sometimes Africa or Australia. Not many lands were avoided, although we scarcely saw the Americas.

I must admit I don't curse the fact that I was often made to travel with them, if only to be drug along and shut away with the servants while my parents traipsed around with foreigners declaring their superiority. It was learning that I found with so much travel, and so I tolerated it.

School was out of the question for me so I was privately tutored. Reading became an addiction, and I sucked in knowledge as fast as I could get it. In all honesty, books were the only way I could find a way to entertain myself.

My first interests were in long-dead tales of feudal times, the myths and legends of King Arthur and his knights. Such stories fascinated me as a boy. People held valor and kinship, and kings kept power over their kingdoms and defeated the forces of evil. But I was always an observer. I could never identify with the characters, as I could never be like any of them. I had no worth, and that was clear to me even then.

Besides those books I had no friends, save for one whose name will be saved for later. To go out and find playmates was a ludicrous idea, though I had tried it before. In every case it was always a mistake.

I can remember a day when I was only six years old… one of my first clear memories. It was winter, a year we were spending Christmas in Germany. One of the servant girls, I don't rightly recall which one, was instructed to watch me while she went on some errands in town and so I was made to go with her. It was cold, but it wasn't snowing and so I would not complain.

I could only hobble along beside the girl while she kept a tight grip on my hand, making me wince and cower at her side.

I caught glances from passers by, sneers and snickers from the occasional mindless townsfolk who delight in judging anything that isn't like them. I had seen it all before, and so I ignored it, lowering my eyes to the street.

I was tugged to the corner shop and then swiftly my hand was leg go and the servant ordered me to stay put while she went inside. I obeyed.

While she was gone, I caught the sound of laughter. Children were playing in the gutter nearby, giggling and running with no attention paid to the adults that only paid half a mind to the youths in turn.

I lifted my eyes if only to watch them. I had played games with myself at times, when the servants were too busy to entertain my boredom, but never with other children. I do not know what I was thinking when I began to approach them, but then I didn't know what I do now… that children can be just as cruel, if not crueler than adults when it came to playing the game of ridicule.

They stopped when they saw me, as if my approaching had interrupted their magic world of play. I stood there in my clean gray suit barely tailored to fit, which did nothing to hide the cursed lump of a back, my hair cut short as to keep my twisted form and pallid face all the more obvious.

I grew timid at their staring and all I could do was stare back.

To my surprise, they didn't run, but instead grew curious and started to gather around me. There were about five of them, three boys and two girls. I judged most of them were probably a few years older than me.

One of the boys approached and looked down at me, his gaze smirking and judging.

I thought I saw one of the girls smile at me, and seeking a reaction, a smiled shyly in return. But the reaction I received wasn't what I had hoped. I quickly realized that the smile was a mocking one.

"Hey look," the first boy standing over me spoke. "It's Igor." He snorted a laugh as the rest giggled along with him. "Where's your Master, Igor?"

I stared wide-eyed at the group, unable to move. "My name's Ormand…" I had whispered in some attempt to stop their laughing. It cut into me like a dull razor, the taunting words that I couldn't understand what I could have possibly done to provoke.

"That's a stupid name." One of the other boys decided to pipe up and join the game. "They should call you Hunchy." More laughing.

I cringed and stepped back, now realizing my folly, I wished to be hidden from them and stop their leering looks.

"Stop…" I pleaded when they followed and refused to leave me be.

"Why? We just want to play." The first boy grinned. I turned my back to escape, but a hand quickly pushed me down into the muddy street.

I felt cold pavement and snow melting into my clothes, my hands scraped where I had tried to catch myself falling. They stung as I tried to pick myself up. Hot tears burned at the edge of my vision but I had long been taught by my father never to let myself cry.

Beyond the blurriness of my vision I could hear they were sniggering again, and something inside snapped. For possibly the first time in my life I felt real anger and hatred, and acted on it.

"Leave me alone!" I cried, shoving the boy back harshly, though I was scarcely strong enough to move him.

This action, I found, was a grave mistake.

"Don't touch me, schleim." He shoved me even harder, sending me into the gutter.

One of the children must have grabbed some rocks, as I felt large pebbles pelt me in the side. The name-calling and curses only increased. One of the larger rocks hit the side of my head, and desperate, I attempted to crawl away from them.

I heard shouting before the boy could send a kick to my side, as the servant girl had finished in the shop and was chasing the children away from me.

"Go on, get!" She was shooing them down the street. "Play your cruel games elsewhere you little ruffians."

My relief wasn't to last long, as the servant girl was soon after snatching up my collar and dragging me to my feet.

"What were you doing? Your parents will be furious at me for letting you get in trouble." I received a small slap to my cheek and then she roughly grabbed my hand and started dragging me back to the house.

I didn't say a thing, allowing myself to be reprimanded and tugged home with my hands and my head aching. When we got home my scrapes were tended to, and I was sent to my room where I was left to be on my own and think on my foolishness.

I always had a small room wherever we traveled. My room in Bedburg was furnished with only a bed, a desk and a dresser, and I had few toys. None of the furniture really matched, as I tended to receive whatever my parents saw unfit to be displayed around the house and be seen by guests. Like me, I had thought.

I at least had a window, and I had a chair set there where I would often sit and stare out at the rest of the town. It wasn't a great view, as I had to see from the side of the house where the streets were often muddy from the passing vehicles. But if we stayed in that house long enough I could observe the change of the seasons and at that moment, I was wishing that winter would melt into spring sooner than usual.

There was a mirror on the dresser, but until then, I had ignored it. That night, I could do nothing but sit and stare at my own reflection. The day's experience was a realization, that I was so different from what was normal, that I was ugly and unwanted. It was my first inkling into the idea that it was my appearance that was so repulsive, that it was my deformity that caused disgust and amusement among my peers.

As I stared into my reflection, my scrawny body, my over-curved spine, my thick black hair that resembled nothing of the blonde of both my parents, I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Even my eyes didn't match, I observed as I watched the tears streak my blotched cheeks, my right one nearly white compared to the stark blue of my left. I trembled, and I glared at myself, secretly scolding myself for having let myself cry.

I tore my gaze away and I covered the mirror with an old blanket. I didn't uncover it again for years.

The next day is a day I remember as well, because it was the day that I met Elsa. It was because of her that I regained a bit of hope in my youth, and which led to some of the best days of my life... however short they were.

---

_Here he paused, as a breeze had crept in from the window that was opened a crack, blowing out the candle on the edge of the table. He breathed an unnecessary breath, set down the pen and found a new match to light the flame anew. He flinched again as the small fire rekindled itself on the wick. Then he stood, and crossed to the window in order to shut it closed._

_His hand was at the latch when he thought he caught the glimpse of a white shape drifting over the midnight blue painted snow. Her pure white gold, tossed locks unmistakable to his eyes._

_Was it her again, his Angel here to watch over him?_

_He thought he saw a drifting smile call up to him from the empty street, a comforting gesture that touched him somewhere within his dead, cold heart. For a moment he believed he could feel warmth reaching out to him from places long dead and dark._

_Memories called out to him like far-off dreams, recalling days of only months ago, when She was alive, and so was he._

"_Forgive me, my Dove." He whispered with bloodless lips, his arm outstretched towards the window, fingers pressing against the glass and leaving no marks. But the figure was gone, leaving only a sullen chill in its place._

_He closed the window. Perhaps he had imagined it, but he ceased to debate it. She was his Angel, and he didn't care to believe otherwise._

_Coming back to his desk, he sat with his uncomfortable posture over the pages, and drew the pen back into his hand._

_It was a sign perhaps, that his Angel had chosen to visit. His story must be continued, even if no one but the spirits of the dead heard it._

_Turning a page, the author resumed._


	3. Pleasant Days

Lost Doves

Two: Pleasant Days

I had seen her from afar before I really met her. I was told she was a distant cousin from my mother's side, although unlike my mother's family, hers was far from wealthy. To keep me out of trouble, my parents gave funds to Elsa's family and in return they sent Elsa to be my playmate.

I was wary and shy at first, as so many kids before had either kept me at bay or played cruel tricks on me, but I soon discovered that Elsa was quite different than the others. From the first moment I saw her I was enchanted by her beauty and her innocence. She had always been a beautiful child, and though I hadn't known many girls, I thought she was perfect.

She was playing with her dolls the first time I really saw her up close. She had a large dollhouse, which was a gift from my parents, and they sent me to go play with her though I knew they just wanted me out of the way. I stood by the door for the longest time and simply watched her.

The afternoon light shone in through the window, playing against shiny red curls and a gentle complexion. She was playing a game of make-believe with her dolls, happy to be in her own little world that harbored no sadness or cruelty. I stepped forward awkwardly and stood in front of her until I was noticed.

The smile I received melted all doubt. Somehow she didn't see my looks, and she didn't care at all that I was not like the others.

"Hello." She grinned and held up one of her dolls. "Want to play?"

Dolls were for girls perhaps, but I had never been offered the chance to play before, not so earnestly, and I found myself faintly smiling in return. I timidly reached for the doll.

"Okay…" I said, sitting down slowly to join her.

We played until evening, until her parents arrived to take her back home. It was not the last I would see of her. She was to visit many times whenever my family came home to Germany, and sometimes I was sent to her house to be watched when the maids were too busy or fed up with my presence.

It was bliss to be with her. I felt normal, not judged… free. I loved most of all to watch her. On occasion I would hide myself near her room and watch her in secret. But I didn't always have to hide. Such a caring young child, she would take me on all sorts of pretend adventures and games. I could even begin to pretend that I was happy.

When we played hide and seek I would sometimes let her find me, though I had gotten quite good at hiding myself where no one could find me. She would laugh with joy when she found me, wrap her arms around me in a hug and then run off to hide. Her laughter was like a chorus of angels. Soft and sweet, always calling to me. I made sure to keep my hiding spots relatively easy to find.

Sometimes I would gather white flowers and she would let me place them in her hair, and though at first I expected it, there was no flinch from her when I touched her. Instead she would smile in a way that put her china dolls to shame. She was perhaps the first person to hear me laugh, though those occasions were rare, and if I felt scared or alone I would seek her out, and she would be there to smile and ease my worries.

I admired her for her boldness, her bright and creative spirit. She had beauty and a genuine purity. She was a companion that only the angels could have sent for me. And while the rest of the world proceeded to go unchanged in my eyes, as I remained an outcast and a scorned mistake of creation, Elsa stayed by my side. She even sought to defend me from cruel eyes and mocking stares.

I can still see her standing before me like a guardian angel, protecting. She would scold the bullies for picking on me and so bravely stand up for her place as my friend. I couldn't see how she could be so confident and strong and still have faith in me.

"They don't know you, Ormand." She used to tell me. "They just don't understand you because you're different." Then she would smile and wipe the mud from my face where I had fallen. "One day they will see how good you are. You'll see."

Oh, how I wanted to believe her words. But as I grew older, I only became more bitter and disillusioned, and even her words of comfort couldn't be enough to calm my growing anger for the world.

---

To be a teenager in those years was unbearable, and the only days I could feel an inkling of joy was when Elsa was there to visit. When I was forced to leave the country constantly during the long summer months, I would loath the time that stretched between us. I would receive letters from her from time to time, but it was never enough, as I could not stand being without her presence.

I heard much from her letters. How much she missed me. How the summer blossoms had come to bloom and she wished I could see them with her. How her father was planning on sending her to become a nun once she reached of age.

The last of course came to me in shock, and disappointment. I never told her how much I hated the idea, but beauty such as hers should not be forced to modesty in the service of God, which I had already begun to lose faith in. I had not told her the latter, either.

Such a waste. I despised her family for the decision, even if Elsa was willing. But my opinion would never be heard out, even if I voiced it. It never was.

I used to imagine that growing older would draw a change around me, and the world would forget the unwanted child and I would be a man to be respected. Perhaps it was Elsa's encouragement that drove me to this thought as a boy, but as I reached closer to manhood, it became apparent that this would not be the case.

I could still hear people whispering things about me behind my back while I walked in the street. Sometimes I could even catch the sound of sniggering children, who still thought it fun to throw things in my direction from alleyways and then to run off and never be caught. I didn't bother to chase them. I would wipe off the smudge of rotten fruit or kick away the stone and walk on. It wasn't tolerance, but survival that kept me from acting too quick on my anger.

The only thing that changed was myself. I could no longer trust others, least of all my peers. In seclusion I realized that if I wanted to survive in such a world of cruelty, I had to remember that my needs would have to come first. I wouldn't let some mindless boors have control over my life. And no, I wouldn't even let my parents have control either, but as long as I was dependent on them, they still had it.

I sought out my father when I first wanted a peek at his library. I was fifteen then, and I had heard that he had many books on the history of Germany, and I was eager to see what wondrous learning could be had. So eager was I that I would even risk my neck to speak to my father. I had no urges to do that in the past for many reasons, the main one being his temper and his impatience with insignificant problems, namely, me.

The old General sat in his armchair in the parlor room, enjoying a cigar, which filled the room with acrid smoke. He was reading the morning newspaper in silence. I chose this time specifically, because it was when my father was the least busy, and least likely to act up. Even so, I was nervous. To ask a favor of him was something I never did.

I stepped closer to his chair, and I knew he could hear me, for I had always walked with a faint shuffling step that made my approach obvious. He looked up.

I rarely saw my father this close, and seeing him then, I could tell he was growing old. His once golden blonde hair was dulling to a wintry gray, and his eyebrows were already stark white and drew heavily over his dark, menacing eyes. He had the face of that once-proud Arian race, with a square jaw and a built that once used to be muscular and impressive.

"What do you want?" He said even before I could get a word in, not even lowering the newspaper.

I hesitated, fear making me pause. "I was wondering," I started, lowering my eyes from his accusing gaze. "If I could ask something, father?"

He studied me in silence as he dragged on his cigar and then laid it in the ashtray on the side table. "What is it, then?"

So far so good. He had not yet yelled at me or driven me out of the room.

"Only to see your library, father." Oh so humbly I asked. I nearly groveled at his feet. Yes, I was still under his paternal power. It sickens me now to remember.

"Why should I let you do that, hm?" He asked in such a casual manner, that I was almost sent to a state both cowering with fear and yet shuddering with rage.

"Please…" It was all I had left. Pleading. "I will not damage your books. I will not touch any you do not want to be touched. I only wish to see them."

My father stood, folding the paper and placing it on the arm of the chair. He was still taller than me, but my hunch had always made me shorter.

"Let me tell you something, boy." He always called me that. Never son. Not even by my name. "Those books survived a war. Most of them I have had since I was a boy." He leaned over me, watchful like a large, leering statue. "If I were to let your filthy little hands onto those pages, the very memory of them would be disgraced."

I could not have been any lower than how I felt. How could I have thought he would even consider letting me step foot in his precious library?

One last try, I lifted my eyes. "But father… I would not--."

I was cut off as his hand struck my face. He was not as forceful as he could have been.

"You know better than to talk back to me when I have made my decision." He grabbed his paper, sat back down and returned to his reading.

That was that. I had no chance of convincing otherwise. My hate boiled inside, but I could not show it. I was too afraid to let it show.

I dared not to cry though the smack stung my cheek, and I drew in a breath to keep myself together. I turned from him and I left as silently as I could, until I reached the door and there I broke into a run for my own room.

I still did not weep, but I buried myself in my books, forcing myself to forget everything for that moment. I thought of Elsa, and how I would collapse into her embrace when I saw her again, and how she would smile and comfort me…

But, if there was any respite from those dreadful nights and days away from Elsa, it was in learning. My studies increased while I had more time on my hands, and even though I did not have access to my father's library, I had other sources.

Most boys my age would waste their time with friends and girls, filling themselves with alcohol and drugs at parties and other meaningless activities. As for me, I had no social life, and I didn't care for one.

I studied law and finance, and the politics of every country we visited came as a great interest to me. I sat in my room alone on many days, simply reading and studying. I was just beginning to understand that there was power in knowledge, and I would harness that power. I craved this about as much as I craved for my cousin's presence.

I would teach myself the inner workings of society, and I would know it well. And then some day I would show them all what this ugly, hunched creature was capable of.

---

My youthful shyness disappeared with Elsa quickly, and as she blossomed into a woman, my admiration never waned. But there was a change in me as well. I only delved deeper into readings and secluded myself away in order to keep out noise and distractions. It didn't keep me from Elsa by any means, but I am sure my behavior didn't go unnoticed.

Despite what seemed to be a growing friendship, I could see my hope for the future slowly drowning. Elsa was growing popular as she had indeed surpassed her own youthful prettiness and became a startling beauty of a woman. She remained kind and joyful, and it wasn't only I who was drawn to her brightness. I knew that some day she would leave me, especially since I knew that her deeply religious parents were sending her to the nunnery.

From the day I knew for certain that those were her possible futures, I felt my dreams being crushed by time. Although I felt bitterness inside, I tried to hide it from Elsa as she still did her best to be with me, even through her busy schedule.

She came to visit me one cold and rainy evening. I was reading alone in my room as usual and she was just coming back from one of the many dances she had begun to attend, no doubt surrounded by friends and admirers. I had locked myself in my room, but I let her in when I heard her soft knock and her gentle voice.

I still had little in my room, but I had collected a near library of books to study from, and with a little coaxing from Elsa, I had uncovered the mirror that stood on my dresser. I hardly ever looked at it, but I wasn't so conscious of my looks when she was around.

She was carrying a package with her, but that wasn't what I was focused on when I beheld her. She was dressed in a bright emerald gown, which only worked to emphasize her modest curves. She was so perfect.

"I brought you a gift." She said, the silky material of her gown creating a soft rustling noise across the floor as she drew closer.

I looked up from some volume of philosophy I had been reading, and I stared at her figure with appreciation… but yes, more than that. "You did?" I inquired, always so delighted to receive tokens from her.

She kissed my cheek chastely once she had reached my side.

"Yes." She said with a smile that shone out like sunlight. "Open it."

I did as she said, taking the gift-wrapped object from her and carefully prying it open. Inside I found a rare book on early German politics, still in perfect condition. I stared up at her a moment, curious as to where she got it from. Instead of questioning her I simply smiled, though my smiles had felt heavier than they have been in the past.

"You are always so thoughtful..." I said quietly.

She blushed and I couldn't help but smile a bit more.

"No, not really." Standing so close, I could smell the perfume that still lingered on her wrists and behind her ears. "I saw this book and new it needed a good home with you."

I set the book in my lap and looked up at her, fascinated.

"I missed you tonight." She said then, sitting beside me.

I looked downward, fingers playing over the cover of the book. "Did you have to go?"

"Yes, you know I did. I am on the committee." I imagined she sounded regretful. "I can stay here with you for a few days, though."

I was quiet. I resented her obligations and her popularity… everything that was keeping her from me.

"We will have a good time, ok?" She had a hopeful smile.

When I didn't answer she added. "Please." Pleading with me.

How could I argue with such a plea? I swallowed down my hatred for the world and slowly nodded.

"I only wish you could stay forever." I whispered, reaching for her hand. She still didn't flinch or cringe from my touch. Her hand was smooth and warm, and she smelled so good…

"I know." She smiled at me. She could still only see the childish sweetness that I might have once possessed. She couldn't see how much I desired her.

I slowly looked up into her eyes, but something was dying in my own pale blue ones. Whatever lingered of my innocence and maybe even my hope, was all hanging by a thread. I didn't really know it then, but it could have been her that was holding those remnants together. I tried to smile. Not for the first time, I wished I were not so ugly.

A flash of lightning and then a distant call of thunder reminded us of the storm outside. The lights flickered, and then went out.

She clung closely to me suddenly as we were thrust into darkness.

"What an awful storm." She muttered.

The sudden darkness only faintly startled me, but what startled me more was her touch as she clung to my side. I found myself smiling again. I took my chances and my arms slipped around her, frail but protective. I could feel goose bumps rising along her bare arms.

I remembered when she used to hold me when we were only children and the thunder and lightning would strike outside my room. We would huddle together, chasing away each other's fears. It was a similar scene, but now I wasn't afraid.

I hugged her a little closer, feeling my lips close to her skin, inhaling the scents arising from her. Her hair still had the lingering scent of strawberries and there was perfume on the smooth skin of her long neck. I could barely feel her heart race, and her breathing was so soft and alluring.

How could she fit so perfectly against my own twisted form?

A thunderbolt struck the sky again and she winced. Despite her fear, it was a heavenly moment for me. I could have honestly been content to just hold her all night. Forever.

I kissed her cheek once in an attempt to reassure her as I used to when we were children. Her cheek was a blaze with warm and life, and her only reaction was to burry her head against my shoulder in fear of the storm. Since she didn't seem to mind it the first time, I kissed her again.

"I hate these storms." She shuddered against me, trying to calm down. As she spoke I could see the outline of her lips in the low light.

"They can't hurt you." I murmured, my breath brushing against her skin. I was intoxicated by the simple sensations of being near her. There was so much I hadn't felt before. So much I longed for.

"Okay…" She murmured in response, while she continued to rest against me, trusting my embrace.

Perhaps I began to feel too bold, as I slipped my fingers through her hair, caressing the soft locks, my face faintly nuzzling against her neck. Only now did she notice something different in me, and she drew in a sharp breath when my lips touched her neck, tensing up as if my actions had only now confused her.

"You're right. I'll be okay." She said then, and I feared that she was about to pull away from me in fear, not from the storm now, but from me. But that blessed thunder returned in a flash of rescuing light and shook the whole house with it's deep rumbling. Her childish fear, still overriding her confusion, drove her to forget my hasty actions and she was whimpering against me again.

I didn't let her go, but I neither did I dare push my chances again and go too far. It was all too perfect and I couldn't let it end just yet. Not while I had her and she clung to me like a lover in the dead of night… even if she beheld none of these thoughts in her own naïve but beautiful mind.

As she shivered in my arms, I hushed her and gently kissed her face. I was always careful with her, and tonight, I would not test my limits. Not tonight.

The rest of the night I held her tight, and if she had happened to look upon my face at all, she would have seen a content smile played about my pallid features. It was a moment I would not quickly forget.

She kept her promise and she stayed around for a few days, visiting me in my room, where we would discuss politics and literature and music. She spoke with wonder about things she had never seen, and she begged me to tell her what I had recently read of places overseas.

I would tell her all that I knew, eager to share my knowledge with one so bright as her. She was not a mindless little girl, and she never had been. I could find no fault in her at all.

And yet, as with all good things, such pleasure couldn't last. Elsa was never mine to have, and no matter how hard I would try, I could never hold onto the happiness I once felt with her that one night during the storm. Never.

I sat at my window one night, alone. Elsa had just said goodnight and had walked out into the dusky light of the streetlamps to find her way home. I watched her from the window until she disappeared around the faded buildings that once stood proudly but now held nothing but the ghosts of the past.

I knew from that moment that she was lost to me. I could feel my heart twisting with fear and uncertainty as she sunk from my sight into the shadows. I could barely see my reflection in the windowpane, and as I stared at the pasty image that stared back at me, I wondered about all that Elsa had taught me. Hope.

No, I would not give up on her, for I still had some inkling of hope. It was false hope, but it was hope that she had instilled in me, even if it turned black with envy and hatred in the end…

I smiled to my unpleasant face. If I could have power as I wished it, could I not also have Elsa? She understood me. She saw something in me that no one else could see. Was it goodness? Was it that child that she used to know, that by now had begun to die? Whatever it was, I could not doubt she cared. Could it be, that she maybe even loved me as well?

I loved her. At least, I assumed what I felt was love. Being a boy that had felt no real love for his parents, not even for the servants that raised him, how could I know what love was? I knew that I felt longing, that I yearned for Elsa's body against mine, that I could cry myself to sleep when thinking how she had treated me… as an equal. Did she even know any of this? I had hidden my desires to a point where I had assumed she knew nothing of them.

Sometimes I wished she did know, and that at night she would come to me, come to my bed and hold me and tell me that she was mine, forever.

These were fantasies of course, but I indulged them as often as I had them, even if I didn't completely believe them.

That night I went to bed and dreamed of my Elsa, coming to me with open arms and kissing away my tears. She told me she loved me and she would never leave me. And she never did…

Until the dream ended…

---

_Snow was falling outside and he could hear the soft cry of doves as morning was drawing near, threatening to drown out the stars with it's brightness and chase away the shadows of the night._

_He would have to stop and wait until the next night to continue. He set the pen on the desk and gathered the papers, opening a drawer to stash then inside. He kept a key to lock the drawer, though he doubted a soul could get this far to take them, even if they knew they existed. It was better to be safe, was it not?_

_He listened to the soft calls outside his window, his story locked away until it was safe to resume. The sun was coming, and his light devoured the monsters of the night. Like him._

_Standing in silence, he forced breath into his dead lungs and blew out the candle, extinguishing the light in the room._

_As he left the small library, seeking out the cold, lightless room that would be his place of rest through the day, the smoke from the candle curled like tiny ghosts, feeling their way towards the ceiling, left there to meet the dawn._


	4. Unhealthy Desires

Lost Doves

Three: Unhealthy Desires

_Shadows returned to loom over the city, the street-lamps fading and flickering, casting a gray-yellow color onto the pavement._

_A girl quickly crossed the street, hurrying her way home. Her soft brown curls bouncing as she turned her head to look behind her, her eyes wide with only half-hidden fear. She didn't know why she was scared, but she had the feeling she was being watched ever since she left her night school._

_Indeed, she was being watched. Somewhere, a dark shape moved among the shadows, blending with perfect inky blackness. His progress was slow, but he didn't need to hurry._

_He stepped from the darkened alleyway, becoming visible to the young woman who was by now frozen with fear. But, no… it was not only fear. She felt a strange attraction to the hunchbacked figure that had suddenly appeared before her. She felt compelled to him, as if some spell had been cast upon her to which she had no control._

"_Wh-who are you?" Her voice trembling as she spoke._

_The strange man smiled, thinly, without a hint of cruelness._

"_I am your angel…" He said._

_As he drew closer, she couldn't will herself to move. She didn't want to. She stared up at that pale, veined, unbeautiful face, and she could do nothing but believe his words._

_Into the shadows he drew her, until they were alone and no one could disturb him. She continued to stare up at him, wide-eyed and confused… yet trusting._

_He pulled her to him suddenly, moving quickly before the spell could be broken. She gasped, her reaction stunned to surprise, until his fangs were bared and sinking deep into the flesh of her neck. The Kiss took her, and he could feel her body surrender, a soft moan escaping her lips._

_He had chosen well. Her blood was pure. Un-tainted. The girl had still been an innocent, and the taste of her was sweet. There was no other victim he could feed from than those so unblemished by life._

_The soft beat of her heart was growing fainter, and though he could have drained her dry and left her to rot in the street, he chose to spare this one life._

_He drew back, the wound healing shut with one lick. The girl was unconscious, but she was still alive. He would leave her so she may only remember vague details of that night._

_He lowered her to the ground, on the sidewalk where she could be found by some compassionate passer-by. If she were found by any beings otherwise, it would not be something that would trouble his mind. He was leaving her to the fates._

_He could have easily blamed fate for his own life, but instead he chose to blame everyone else. It was so much easier to accuse the people around him, as they could be punished._

_What he had to do was not his own fault. It never was his fault. It was the fault of society, of the world._

_Returning to his secluded house, the hunched man found himself alone in his library once more. He had thought much on how to continue his story as he had walked the silent streets, away from his former-prey. There was still much more to tell._

_He closed the door behind him and sat at his desk. Here, he unlocked the drawer and retrieved the papers which recorded his half-revealed life._

_A pen was found, and he lit the candles anew, letting the scant light be his guide back into his memory._

---

How easy it is for me to remember my Elsa's face. Each of her expressions is imprinted in my mind. Her happiness, her wonder, her determination… her fear.

When I recall her now, she is no longer smiling. I was growing cold and distant before her eyes, but she never really did see the monstrous side of me. Not until it was too late.

Revenge was my first taste of real power, and as soon as I tasted the bittersweet flavor on my lips, I craved more of it.

I was only in my late teens, and still those taunting looks plagued me. It came from other boys my age, mostly. Those that find it amusing to hurt others, and they somehow think it impresses their girlfriends.

Eventually, I came to the decision that I would no longer take the abuse. It was the day I would be pushed too far.

I was already upset that day, and I could not see Elsa for she was far away with her parents for the weekend. I had also been shooed out of the house while my own parents entertained some respectable guests.

And so I was out on my own without a place to go and with hardly a thing to do. Luckily had a book with me, but I still had to find a place where I could sit and not be bothered.

I found a park and sat myself on a bench under a street lamp. The summer air was still and cool in the night, and the park was just how I liked it. Silent. I settled down and opened my book, delving into the pages of history.

A distant shouting disturbed my concentration, and I lifted my eyes with an annoyed scowl. A few drunken college boys were walking home from a bar, roughhousing and laughing too loudly.

"Mindless idiots…" I muttered to myself as I stood up, seeking to get away from the noise. I wasn't quite quick enough.

"Ay! Where are you headed off to, buddy?" They were behind me before I could escape from their sights.

I turned, already glaring, not in the mood to be bothered. "Away from your offensive, moronic carousing, if you must know."

They looked at each other, clearly unsure how insulted they should be. Finally one of the boys glared back.

"Hey, you callin' us morons? Huh, Ugly?" He pushed at my shoulder with a meaty hand.

I stumbled back from them with a faint twitch. "How original…" I muttered. "Did you make that up all by yourself? Puerile ignoramus…"

It was almost beautiful how angry I was making them.

"Don't you have a bell to go ring, Quasi?" One of them sniped back.

I clenched my fists at my side and kept my calm. I had plenty practice of that.

"Don't you all have whores to go home to?" Perhaps I had hit a little too low.

They were upon me like a pack of dogs before I could even turn from their huge sweaty bodies and putrid breath. I was grabbed by my collar while a second fist came in and slammed into my stomach. I was not strong by any means and I crumpled at the force.

"You're gonna pay for that Quasi." Another punch landed into my gut, and then another hit the side of my face. They let go and I was sent reeling into the grass.

Wheezing, I curled onto the ground trying to breathe. A sharp kick landed into my already aching back, and I arched in pain.

"Wait, what was that?" One of them turned from me, and they all stopped, listening. A car was approaching.

"Let's get outta here. He learned his lesson. Freak." A gob of spit fell into my hair but I could hardly notice behind the screen of red pain.

They left me there, running off with whooping cries and cackles of accomplishment.

The car passed, but the headlights passed above me and didn't stop. I curled into a ball, knowing I wouldn't find help in this town, and I would have to help myself.

About a half an hour passed while I lay there in silence, getting my breath back, finding the strength to get to my feet. I tasted blood in my mouth and pain shot down my spine as I righted myself from the ground. I grimaced, but I would keep what I had of my pride. From there I limped my way home, very slowly and achingly, but I made it.

I ignored the looks from the servants as I struggled in through the door, just wanting to be alone in my room. They still fussed to help me since they didn't want my parents upset by my beaten appearance, but I waved them off and slammed my door shut, locking myself inside.

While I was alone, I plotted. I wouldn't let myself rest until I had come up with a way to get back at those boys. I wasn't going to give into the harassment as I had in the past. This time I would have revenge.

Once I was healed enough I went to the college and I found out the boys names. I discovered who their families were easily enough, and from that information I carried out a simple plan.

I sent anonymous letters to their parents and their schoolteachers, questioning the boy's behavior concerning certain acts with drugs and hookers. The amusing part was sending actual prostitutes to their houses and watching their parents and girlfriends gape as the trashy women asked for their money. But I was merciless, and I didn't stop my hidden plans until they were in trouble with both their families and their schools. I even saw them expelled while one boy was actually found in possession of drugs, which ironically I didn't place there.

It was a minor vengeance, but it was the start of something I couldn't stop, and it would eventually lead to more heinous actions. Later I would get a man arrested for a crime he didn't commit simply for tripping me on the street. But that would all be nothing compared to the first time I gave into my darkest desires and ended a human life.

---

It was a Sunday morning, the day after my 19th birthday, (although that didn't have much significance) when a servant girl came into my room and woke me from a fitful sleep.

"Ormand, wake up… I have bad news."

"What?" I didn't really want to be bothered, but I cracked my eyes open at the woman and frowned.

She didn't answer at first, looking concerned. "It is your parents." She sighed. "They did not make it from their flight from Rome."

I sat up slowly, blinking up at her. "What do you mean?"

She bit her lip as if afraid to tell something that would upset me. "There was a plane crash. They have both… passed away."

It was odd, but I really didn't feel any shock or despair, I only stared up at the maid with a blank look. She took that as a sign that I was in shock and she hugged me against her bosom tightly. I flinched at the contact I wasn't used to and tried to pull away.

"Go away…" I muttered, and she let me go from her pitying grip.

She gave me a sad look before she left, and I only wanted to sneer back at her. I was tired of pity, especially when it wasn't needed. I didn't miss my mother and father, and I never would. They had been old and I was expecting them to die soon anyway.

However, it was a blow to my life as I was left with the house, but not the family fortune. Apparently they didn't leave me the money in their wills. The maids all left as there were no more jobs to be paid, and I was left alone. Although I didn't mind the solitude in the huge house, the absence of a provider meant I needed a job.

It wasn't hard finding a starting job as I had an impressive education, but it was hard to get any further with my looks, in times when employers still had no trouble with being prejudice.

I became an assistant for an accounting firm, and it paid enough to get me through my days, but it wasn't the only thing that helped me live.

Elsa was still around.

She was there to see me the day she heard the news my parents had died. I didn't have to pretend I was upset in front of her. She had always known I wasn't fond of either of them and she knew how they had treated me. But it didn't matter, I was grateful for her presence either way.

It was a week after the news of the crash that Elsa agreed to spend the weekend with me in what was now my house.

She greeted me with a warm hug and a comforting smile. We spent the day talking, and later we would settle in front of the television to watch the midnight movie.

She had just slipped off to change. I let her go, but I couldn't resist the urge to follow and hide outside the door. She was even so trusting as to leave the door unlocked and it was left open a crack. And there, I was carefully positioned to spy on her.

From the antique standing mirror in the room, I could see the reflection of her feminine form quite clearly. I could only catch the briefest flash of her pinky flesh as she changed out of her clothes and into her nightgown, but it was enough for me to appreciate her absolute beauty.

She had a body exquisitely flawless and untainted… How could a creature so perfect as her like something so deformed and ugly as me?

I smiled to myself and imagined that I could have her, and that she wouldn't withdraw from my touch, but arch into me with pleasure.

She had paused to brush out her long, red-gold hair, and too quickly she was turning to the door to return to me.

I shrunk back quickly from the door, and I hurried back to the living room couch where she could find me. I grabbed a book and pretended I had been reading while I waited.

"Ready to watch a movie?" She asked me.

I looked up from the book to smile to her. "Yes."

She returned my smile then snuck away briefly into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of popcorn, settling down beside me. We were both hoping for a peaceful night.

Quietly, I leaned towards her, still enchanted by her beautiful form. I watched her as she watched the movie, as the blue light from the television screen flickering over her, softly bathing her features in a warm glow.

I reached my arm around her shoulders slowly, my urge to be closer to her only growing stronger. I kept my arm there, as she had not objected to my advances. Not yet.

I was watching her, how the satin material of her nightgown clung to her perfectly matured body. My fingers drifted to her hair, trailing through her silky curls. Yet the movie shown on the television still had her attention, and I found myself leaning closer, pressing against her.

My face was brought within inches of hers, and I let my lips brush gently against her skin.

Here she paused, blinking at me while my face was held so close to hers. Her hand stilled from eating the popcorn.

"The movie, remember the movie." She said, trying to divert my attention.

There was no lightning here to scare her again into ignorance. She shifted on the couch cushion awkwardly, seeing the apparent strangeness of my behavior.

I glanced away towards the screen at her reminder, but the events of the movie were far less interesting than she was. "Of course." I murmured. But I didn't let go.

I felt her pull from me slightly, trying to put space between us. I could feel my heart going still, as if all my hopes were sinking with such a tiny gesture of repellant. Did I actually think she would naturally want me in return? In my dreams yes, but now?

With the hopes of encouraging her to stay close I grabbed onto her arm as she leaned away from me. I was not successful.

Her jaw tightened and she looked at me. "What is matter with you Ormand?" She sighed.

I could do nothing but frown at her question and at her reaction. It could have been that I didn't understand fully, or that I didn't want to understand. This just wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was wrong.

"Nothing is." I responded quietly.

"Why are you so clingy tonight?" She was frowning at me, her pretty face lined with confusion.

I let her go seeing her expression, and what I thought was hidden revulsion. Feeling a slight twitch under my eye, I looked away.

No. This wasn't how it was supposed to be at all. She was ruining all of my dreams.

"I only... wish to be close to you..." I murmured.

"You are Ormand. No one is closer than you. You're my family and best friend." I knew she meant that as a positive remark, but I felt it as a silent slap.

"And that's all?" I said under my breath, curling my arms around myself.

"Should there be more?"

I paused in silence, gritting my teeth. "Yes..." At least, I wanted more.

I raised my eyes to hers, mixed emotions no doubt written all over my blemished face. I hadn't learned to completely cover my feelings quite yet.

"Do you... love me?" I asked eventually.

She was silent then, considering her answer for a few seconds before she spoke.

"Yes," She said. "But not in a romantic way. I can't... you're my cousin. Besides, you know I am going to the nunnery."

Is this what it feels like to have your heart broken? I wondered.

I turned away from her. It was hard to look at her now. "Can't or won't?"

"Both." She sighed out as if in great anguish. "I am sorry."

I shut my eyes tightly. It hurt. Why was she hurting me so?

"Why?"

"I never want to cause you pain, Ormand."

"But you are…" I could barely breathe.

"I know, but I must. I cannot be with you. You will find another woman who can love you, but I cannot." She slowly stood up from the couch, stepping away from me.

Her words were like cold predictions of a future that would never happen. I couldn't believe them. How could any woman truly love me? Even her, my own cousin, could not. Not how I wanted her to.

I turned suddenly to grab her again, to stop her from leaving. I was being less careful now, becoming blinded by pain and anger. I barely noticed how she winced at my forceful grip.

"No. No one ever has. No one else ever will. Don't you see? You're meant to be with me. Only you can understand." I paused. I did not mean to harm her. "Stay. Stay with me. You have made me happy like no one else has..."

"Ormand let me go please. You're scaring me..."

I wasn't letting go. "I want you to see." I was close to desperation. "I need you. Why do you turn from me?"

"No Ormand, you don't need me." She shook her head, insistent. "I can't. I can't."

"I do. I love you..." I was feeling so hurt and afraid, nearly trembling, but soon, like a demon that plagues me, my anger rose up to the front and took control. "I thought you felt the same. Why are you doing this to me? I thought you were different from the others."

"You love me?" She was shocked. So she never knew, never even suspected. She was cringing away from my angry outburst. "I can't be with anyone. You know that."

"I always loved you..." It was a revelation for me as well. I still had my hand on her arm and I tried to pull her closer, if only to make her realize how I felt.

"Why?" Her bafflement at the thought of my love was almost just as painful.

"You always cared." I answered without having to think about it once. "No one else did. No one." I emphasized. "Why can't I be happy too?"

"They care, but you don't see it Ormand."

"No they -don't-." I snapped, my grip tightening. "Did –you- ever really care?"

"Not everyone is so cold." She flinched at the pressure on her arm. "You're in so much pain."

"I only... want you..." I was trying to be gentle again, lifting her hand to place it against my cheek. Her hand was warm and soft, but violently trembling.

"Ormand, you do not want to head down this path of darkness. You are a much better person than those who have been cruel to you. Please, stop and let me go."

"If I am better… then love me." I didn't want to release her. My heart was aching, and already I was feeling empty inside. Was I really better than all of them? Maybe it was they who were right all along, and I was the monster.

"No." That one word was like the last violent stab in my already wounded heart.

I growled passed the tears that threatened to break free. In a violent motion I pushed her down, forcing my lips against hers in a harsh kiss, as if I could somehow change her mind by showing her my own passion, however angered it had become now.

Betrayal. It was one of the first lessons I would learn. Those that betrayed me would pay. Wasn't that what I had done to all the others? The ones that hurt me, that taunted me, that turned me away…

"No, no no no no!" She was fighting me, doing her best to shove me away and break the kiss.

This wasn't quite like my fantasies. Instead of accepting my touch she was refusing me, and that refusal only fueled me more. I would punish her for making me feel this way, for tricking me into thinking I could love her. How could she do this to me?

I held her down, clasping a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. Her eyes were wide with terror, and she was fighting against me with everything she had, clawing at me like an animal. Even though I wasn't a strong man, I could still overpower her.

Her desperate pleas stop me as I was ruled by hate at that point. In a rage I tore at her clothes, pushing her more into the couch to keep her still. She was trapped under me, crying fearfully, yet I did not stop.

It wasn't how I had wanted it to be, but I took her anyway. Such an ultimate display of power it is, to rape someone. When their very life is in your hands and their body is yours for the taking. Complete domination.

I believe something died in me that night that I stole away my Elsa's will. When I broke her. It was the death of any lingering ray of hope in my life.

By the time I realized I had my hand around her throat too tight, it was too late to stop. She was no longer breathing. Her heart, which previously beat strongly in her chest, was silenced. A distant coldness filled the room. Her lily-white skin was blue from asphyxiation, and her slender throat was bruised beyond repair.

Slowly, I moved off of her and backed away from her body. My Elsa's body. I felt numbness, and nothing else, not even my own tears as they fell. I didn't want to feel anymore...

The only person who had loved me in any way up to that point was Elsa, and now she was dead by my own hands.

To say that it was an accident would be no excuse, yes, but I had no intention of admitting to the crime. I buried my guilt, and I would never let anyone see how I felt.

I got rid of her body quickly and her disappearance was never solved.


End file.
